


THAT Hermione Granger

by Brunetterebel010



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But only the pining, Character Study, dramione - Freeform, essentially canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brunetterebel010/pseuds/Brunetterebel010
Summary: Draco's has a crush. . . and a hand in saving the world.But nobody needs to know about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *Almost entirely inspired by the bookstore scene in CoS (film) as I rewatched it tonight with my little brother.  
> *and by that one Tumblr post about Draco feeding the basilisk information to Hermione
> 
> This has almost definitely been done before but I'm here to do it again because I like to write introspectives apparently. Dramione is one of my favorite fanon ships.

“And you must be Miss Granger” Lucius Malfoy said with a sneer glancing sideways at his son for confirmation “Draco’s told me all about you.”

     And indeed Draco had, from the moment he’d stepped off the train at King’s Cross, until moments before, standing in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley insisting that  
     “THAT Hermione Granger” was a teacher’s pet, and the reason his grades had been abysmal my Malfoy standards.  
     It was such a shame THAT Hermione Granger was a mudblood, wasn’t it father, she was such a bright witch, what a waste of talent, truly.  
     It was too bad she was a mudblood, honestly, he would have loved to know exactly how she defeated that mountain troll, obviously Saint Potter and Weasley wouldn’t have  
     been of any help at all.  
     If she wasn’t a filthy mudblood, he might have thought she was rather pretty, her bossy, pretentious, know-it-all air put others off, but it was a trait Draco was used to in  
     pureblood circles, her confidence would have been charming if hadn’t been for the unfortunate issue of her parentage.

 

Draco gave his father a barely perceptible nod, not able to meet anyone’s eyes and the page he’d just ripped from one of the books seemed to him to be on fire in his pocket. He’d overhead what his father had planned with the other remaining supporters of the Dark Lord, and he was afraid. His father’s machinations were usually restricted to blackmailing or bribing people into giving him his way. Lucius was fond of money and power, and he was occasionally cruel, but Draco hadn’t believed he was capable of enacting such a plan, one that would endanger pureblood children just as quickly as muggle-borns if anything went awry. He had, of course, been aware that his father was a blood-purist, an avid student of the dark arts, and a supporter of the Dark Lord, in that vague way that children are often aware of their parents pasts, but now the reality was setting in for Draco and he wasn’t fond of the sensation.

He’d had a nanny once who’d introduced him to muggle literature, and history, and he was vaguely aware that in muggle terms his father was a racist. When the nanny had been caught, leading him to think about the parallels between hate based on skin color (“that’s ridiculous. The Zabini’s blood is not any less pure because of their skin!”) and hate based on who one’s parents were (“Well, I guess that does make sense, but how do two muggles even get a magical child? Surely it’s something terribly wrong.”) she had been instantly sacked, and labeled a blood traitor, disowned by her family. Since then, Draco had kept his opinions to himself and quoted his lines perfectly. He had been severely punished as well, for not reporting the nanny’s traitorous blasphemy at once. His father’s scorn and derision cut him deeply, and stung more sharply than any physical punishment could have, but that didn’t stop the blows from coming. Lucius’s cane was always applied liberally, and had its desired effect. Draco grew into a compliant son, who wholeheartedly ascribed to his father’s beliefs that muggle-borns should not be part of the wizarding world. All the same, the thought of his father being willing to kill them left a bitter taste in his mouth, he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that anyone deserved to die because of their parentage.

When they returned to the manor, Draco hurried upstairs to pack his new items in his trunk, tucking the scrap of paper in to the cover of one of his school books, already trying to plot the best way to sneak it to Granger before any real harm came from the chamber of secrets, but knowing that show found it too soon, she might not understand it’s significance, which could also prove troublesome.

     “What do you think, Perdita?” Draco questioned the eagle owl, offering a treat toward her perch to tempt her to him as he opened the window. “I suppose owls don’t really care, do they, but Uncle Sev might have some advice, be a good girl and take this to him, would you?” He tied a note to her leg and lifted his arm so that she was out over the lawn.

 

     “I saw your owl go out today Draco, who are you writing to?” His mother inquired over dinner “Haven’t got yourself a sweetheart already have you?” She seemed almost hopeful, Draco hadn’t many close friends, Crabbe and Goyle were pureblooded, but his parents had hopes for him to expand his circle.

     “Professor Snape.” Draco replied honestly, “I thought he might give me a hint about what potions we’ll be brewing this year. It was one of my better grades last year, but I don’t need THAT Hermione Granger and Saint Potter claiming that’s only because he’s head of Slytherin house.

     “So what if that was the reason?” Lucious scoffed from the head of the table. “Better you than some mudblood, or those blood-traitorous weasles.”

     “You’re right, of course father.” Draco hung his head, unable to admit that he truly did want to be deserving of good marks, his father might be happy with power that was bought, but it didn’t sit quite right with him. No matter what he did, he never quite felt like he was enough. He tried not to be sullen as they finished their meal, but he could only manage to pick at his food. Perdita had returned to her perch when he returned to his room, he fed her another treat and she settled on the arm of his chair as he retrieved the letter from her leg. She nestled close to him and he unfolded it and he absently rested his cheek atop her head, stroking her back with one hand as he scanned the letter in his other.

     

     My dear boy,  
         

          I don’t know what’s got you in such a twist, but let me assure you of this, if you do not stay true to yourself, you will not be able to live with it. What you believe and feel in your heart is right should be your guide, and I cannot help you there except to encourage you to search yourself well, and be aware that while the opinions of others may hurt, they will never torment you like your own will if you do not hold fast to your own convictions. Trust me on this, above all else.

          As for the homework, I believe if I give you the assignments in advance, your fear that people might believe I play favorite would be realized. I assure you that you are both bright and talented enough to handle the potions along with the rest of your class, but if you really feel you need practice, you can pick anything from the book assigned for this term to brew, and I will gladly critique it for you. I will neither confirm nor deny which ones will be included in the syllabus.

     Best wishes until we meet again,  
                                                                                                                     

                                                                                                                                                                                             Your loving godfather,

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                      Severus T. Snape.


End file.
